with society news and the illustrated papers he is sure that he
recognised her. He says that he feels positive that it was Miss
Catharine Lovelace."
"The Southern heiress," exclaimed Kennedy. "Why, the papers say that
she is engaged---"
"Exactly," cut in McBride, "the heiress who is rumoured to be engaged
to the Duc de Chateaurouge."
Kennedy and I exchanged glances. "Yes," I added, recollecting a remark
I had heard a few days before from our society reporter on the Star, "I
believe it has been said that Chateaurouge is in this country,
incognito."
"A pretty slender thread on which to hang an identification," McBride
hastened to remark. "Newspaper photographs are not the best means of
recognising anybody. Whatever there may be in it, the fact remains that
Madame de Nevers, supposing that to be her real name, has been dead for
at least a day or two. The first thing to be determined is whether this
is a death from natural causes, a suicide, or a murder. After we have
determined that we shall be in a position to run down this Lovelace
clue."
Kennedy said nothing and I could not gather whether he placed greater
or less value on the suspicion of the hotel clerk. He had been making a
casual examination of the body on the bed, and finding nothing he
looked intently about the room as if seeking some evidence of how the
crime had been committed.
To me the thing seemed incomprehensible, that without an outcry being
overheard by any of the guests a murder could have been done in a
crowded hotel in which the rooms on every side had been occupied and
people had been passing through the halls at all hours. Had it indeed
been a suicide, in spite of McBride's evident conviction to the
contrary?
A low exclamation from Kennedy attracted our attention. Caught in the
filmy lace folds of the woman's dress he had found a few small and thin
pieces of glass. He was regarding them with an interest that was
oblivious to everything else. As he turned them over and over and tried
to fit them together they seemed to form at least a part of what had
once been a hollow globe of very thin glass, perhaps a quarter of an
inch or so in diameter.
"How was the body discovered?" asked Craig at length, looking up at
McBride quickly.
"Day before yesterday Madame's maid went to the cashier," repeated the
detective slowly as if rehearsing the case as much for his own
information as ours, "and said that Madame had asked her to say to him
that she was going away for a few days and that under no circumstances
was her room to be disturbed in her absence. The maid was commissioned
to pay the bill, not only for the time they had been here, but also for
the remainder of the week, when Madame would most likely return, if not
earlier. The bill was made out and paid.
"Since then only the chambermaid has entered this suite. The key to
that closet over in the corner was gone, and it might have hidden its
secret until the end of the week or perhaps a day or two longer, if the
chambermaid hadn't been a bit curious. She hunted till she found
another key that fitted, and opened the closet door, apparently to see
what Madame had been so particular to lock up in her absence. There lay
the body of Madame, fully dressed, wedged into the narrow space and
huddled up in a corner. The chambermaid screamed and the secret was
out."
"And Madame de Nevers's maid? What has become of her?" asked Kennedy
eagerly.
"She has disappeared," replied McBride. "From the moment when the bill
was paid no one about the hotel has seen her."
"But you have a pretty good description of her, one that you could send
out in order to find her if necessary?"
"Yes, I think I could give a pretty good description."
Kennedy's eye encountered the curious gaze of McBride. "This may prove
to be a most unusual case," he remarked in answer to the implied
inquiry of the detective. "I suppose you have heard of the 'endormeurs'
of Paris?"
McBride shook his head in the negative.
"It is a French word signifying a person who puts another to sleep, the
sleep makers," explained Kennedy. "They are the latest scientific
school of criminals who use the most potent, quickest-acting stupefying
drugs. Some of their exploits surpass anything hitherto even imagined
by the European police. The American police have been officially warned
of the existence of the endormeurs and full descriptions of their
methods and photographs of their paraphernalia have been sent over here.
"There is nothing in their repertoire so crude as chloral or knock-out
drops. All the derivatives of opium such as morphine, codeine, heroine,
dionine, narceine, and narcotine, to say nothing of bromure d'etyle,
bromoform, nitrite d'amyle, and amyline are known to be utilised by the
endormeurs to put their victims to sleep, and the skill which they have
acquired in the use of these powerful drugs establishes them as one of
the most dangerous groups of criminals in existence. The men are all of
superior intelligence and daring; the chief requisite of the women is
extreme beauty as well as unscrupulousness.
"They will take a little thin glass ball of one of these liquids, for
instance, hold it in a pocket handkerchief, crush it, shove it under
the nose of their victim, and--whiff!--the victim is unconscious. But
ordinarily the endormeur does not kill. He is usually satisfied to
stupefy, rob, and then leave his victim. There is something more to
this case than a mere suicide or murder, McBride. Of course she may
have committed suicide with the drugs of the endormeurs; then again she
may merely have been rendered unconscious by those drugs and some other
poison may have been administered. Depend on it, there is something
more back of this affair than appears on the surface. Even as far as I
have gone I do not hesitate to say that we have run across the work of
one or perhaps a band of the most up-to-date and scientific criminals."
Kennedy had scarcely finished when McBride brought his right fist down
with a resounding smack into the palm of his left hand.
"Say," he cried in great excitement, "here's another thing which may or
may not have some connection with the case. The evening after Madame
arrived, I happened to be walking through the cafe, where I saw a face
that looked familiar to me. It was that of a dark-haired, olive-skinned
man, a fascinating face, but a face to be afraid of. I remembered him,
I thought, from my police experience, as a notorious crook who had not
been seen in New York for years, a man who in the old days used to
gamble with death in South American revolutions, a soldier of fortune.
"Well, I gave the waiter, Charley, the wink and he met me in the rear
of the cafe, around a corner. You know we have a regular system in the
hotel by which I can turn all the help into amateur sleuths. I told him
to be very careful about the dark-faced man and the younger man who was
with him, to be particular to wait on them well, and to pick up any
scraps of conversation he could.
"Charley knows his business, and the barest perceptible sign from me
makes him an obsequious waiter. Of course the dark man didn't notice it
at the time, but if he had been more observant he would have seen that
three times during his chat with his companion Charley had wiped off
his table with lingering hand. Twice he had put fresh seltzer in his
drink. Like a good waiter always working for a big tip he had hovered
near, his face blank and his eyes unobservant. But that waiter was an
important link in my chain of protection of the hotel against crooks.
He was there to listen and to tip me off, which he did between orders.
"There wasn't much that he overheard, but what there was of it was so
suspicious that I did not hesitate to conclude that the fellow was an
undesirable guest. It was something about the Panama Canal, and a
coaling station of a steamship and fruit concern on the shore of one of
the Latin American countries. It was, he said, in reality to be the
coaling station of a certain European power which he did not name but
which the younger man seemed to understand. They talked of wharves and
tracts of land, of sovereignty and blue prints, the Monroe Doctrine,
value in case of war, and a lot of other things. Then they talked of
money, and though Charley was most assiduous at the time all he
overheard was something about 'ten thousand francs' and 'buying her
off,' and finally a whispered confidence of which he caught the words,
'just a blind to get her over here, away from Paris.' Finally the dark
man in an apparent burst of confidence said something about 'the other
plans being the real thing after all,' and that the whole affair would
bring him in fifty thousand francs, with which he could afford to be
liberal. Charley could get no inkling about what that other thing was.
"But I felt sure that he had heard enough to warrant the belief that
some kind of confidence game was being discussed. To tell the truth I
didn't care much what it was, at the time. It might have been an
attempt of the dark-visaged fellow to sell the Canal to a come-on. What
I wanted was to have it known that the Vanderveer was not to be a
resort of such gentry as this. But I'm afraid it was much more serious
than I thought at the time.
"Well, the dark man finally excused himself and sauntered into the
lobby and up to the desk, with me after him around the opposite way. He
was looking over the day's arrivals on the register when I concluded
that it was about time to do something. I was standing directly beside
him lighting a cigar. I turned quickly on him and deliberately trod on
the man's patent leather shoe. He faced me furiously at not getting any
apology. 'Sacre,' he exclaimed, 'what the--' But before he could finish
I moved still closer and pinched his elbow. A dull red glow of
suppressed anger spread over his face, but he cut his words short. He
knew and I knew he knew. That is the sign in the continental hotels
when they find a crook and quietly ask him to move on. The man turned
on his heel and stalked out of the hotel. By and by the young man in
the cafe, considerably annoyed at the sudden inattention of the waiter
who acted as if he wasn't satisfied with his tip, strolled through the
lobby and not seeing his dark-skinned friend, also disappeared. I wish
to heaven I had had them shadowed. The young fellow wasn't a come-on at
all. There was something afoot between these two, mark my words."
"But why do you connect that incident with this case of Madame de
Nevers?" asked Kennedy, a little puzzled.
"Because the next day, and the day that Madame's maid disappeared, I
happened to see a man bidding good-bye to a woman at the rear carriage
entrance of the hotel. The woman was Madame's maid and the man was the
dark man who had been seated in the cafe."
"You said a moment ago that you had a good description of the maid or
could write one. Do you think you could locate her?"
The hotel detective thought a minute or two. "If she has gone to any of
the other hotels in this city, I could," he answered slowly. "You know
we have recently formed a sort of clearing house, we hotel detectives,
and we are working together now very well, though secretly. It is
barely possible that she has gone to another hotel. The very brazenness
of that would be its safeguard, she might think."
"Then I can leave that part of it to you, McBride?" asked Kennedy
thoughtfully as if laying out a programme of action in his mind. "You
will set the hotel detectives on the trail as well as the police of the
city, and of other cities, will make the inquiries at the steamships
and railroads, and all that sort of thing? Try to find some trace of
the two men whom you saw in the cafe at the same time. But for the
present I should say spare no effort to locate that girl."
"Trust it to me," agreed McBride confidently.
A heavy tap sounded at the door and McBride opened it. It was the
coroner.
I shall not go into the lengthy investigation which the coroner
conducted, questioning one servant and employee after another without
eliciting any more real information than we had already obtained so
concisely from the house man. The coroner was, of course, angry at the
removal of the body from the closet to the bed because he wanted to
view it in the position in which it had been found, but as that had
been done by the servants before McBride could stop them, there was
nothing to do about it but accept the facts.
"A very peculiar case," remarked the coroner at the conclusion of his
examination, with the air of a man who could shed much light on it from
his wide experience if he chose. "There is just one point that we shall
have to clear up, however. What was the cause of the death of the
deceased? There is no gas in the room. It couldn't have been
illuminating gas, then. No, it must have been a poison of some kind.
Then as to the motive," he added, trying to look confident but really
shooting a tentative remark at Craig and the house detective, who said
nothing. "It looks a good deal like that other suicide--at least a
suicide which some one has endeavoured to conceal," he added, hastily
recollecting the manner in which the body had been found and his
criticisms of the removal from the closet. "Didn't I tell you?"
rejoined McBride dolefully after we had left the coroner downstairs a
few minutes later. "I knew he would think the hotel was hiding
something from him."
"We can't help what he thinks--yet," remarked Craig. "All we can do is
to run down the clues which we have. I will leave the maid to be found
by your organisation, McBride. Let me see, the theatres and roof
gardens must be letting out by this time. I will see if I can get any
information from Miss Lovelace. Find her address, Walter, and call a
cab."
The Southern heiress, who had attracted more attention by her beauty
than by her fortune which was only moderate as American fortunes go
nowadays, lived in an apartment facing the park, with her mother, a
woman whose social ambitions it was commonly known had no bounds and
were often sadly imposed upon.
Fortunately we arrived at the apartment not very many minutes after the
mother and daughter, and although it was late, Kennedy sent up his card
with an urgent message to see them. They received us in a large
drawing-room and were plainly annoyed by our visit, though that of
course was susceptible of a natural interpretation.
"What is it that you wished to see me about?" began Mrs. Lovelace in a
tone which was intended to close the interview almost before it was
begun.
Kennedy had not wished to see her about anything, but of course he did
not even hint as much in his reply which was made to her but directed
at Miss Lovelace.
"Could you tell me anything about a Madame de Nevers who was staying at
the Vanderveer?" asked Craig, turning quickly to the daughter so as to
catch the full effect of his question, and then waiting as if expecting
the answer from her.
The young lady's face blanched slightly and she seemed to catch her
breath for an instant, but she kept her composure admirably in spite of
the evident shock of Craig's purposely abrupt question.
"I have heard of her," Miss Lovelace replied with forced calmness as he
continued to look to her for an answer. "Why do you ask?"
"Because a woman who is supposed to be Madame de Nevers has committed
suicide at the Vanderveer and it was thought that perhaps you could
identify her."
By this time she had become perfect mistress of herself again, from
which I argued that whatever knowledge she had of Madame was limited to
the time before the tragedy.
"I, identify her? Why, I never saw her. I simply know that such a
creature exists."
She said it defiantly and with an iciness which showed more plainly
than in mere words that she scorned even an acquaintance with a
demi-mondaine.
"Do you suppose the Duc de Chateaurouge would be able to identify her?"
asked Kennedy mercilessly. "One moment, please," he added,
anticipating the blank look of amazement on her face. "I have reason to
believe that the duke is in this country incognito--is he not?"
Instead of speaking she merely raised her shoulders a fraction of an
inch.
"Either in New York or in Washington," pursued Kennedy.
"Why do you ask me?" she said at length. "Isn't it enough that some of
the newspapers have said so? If you see it in the newspapers, it's
so--perhaps--isn't it?"
We were getting nowhere in this interview, at least so I thought.
Kennedy cut it short, especially as he noted the evident restlessness
of Mrs. Lovelace. However, he had gained his point. Whether or not the
duke was in New York or Washington or Spitzbergen, he now felt sure
that Miss Lovelace knew of, and perhaps something about, Madame de
Nevers. In some way the dead woman had communicated with her and Miss
Lovelace had been the woman whom the hotel clerk had seen at the
Vanderveer. We withdrew as gracefully as our awkward position permitted.
As there was nothing else to be done at that late hour, Craig decided
to sleep soundly over the case, his infallible method of taking a fresh
start after he had run up a cul-de-sac.
Imagine our surprise in the morning at being waited on by the coroner
himself, who in a few words explained that he was far from satisfied
with the progress his own office was making with the case.
"You understand," he concluded after a lengthy statement of confession
and avoidance, "we have no very good laboratory facilities of our own
to carry out the necessary chemical, pathological, and bacteriological
investigations in cases of homicide and suicide. We are often forced to
resort to private laboratories, as you know in the past when I have had
to appeal to you. Now, Professor Kennedy, if we might turn over that
research part of the case to you, sir, I will engage to see that a
reasonable bill for your professional services goes through the office
of my friend the city comptroller promptly."
Craig snapped at the opportunity, though he did not allow the coroner
to gain that impression.
"Very well," agreed that official, "I shall see that all the necessary
organs for a thorough test as to the cause of the death of this woman
are sent up to the Chemistry Building right away."
The coroner was as good as his word, and we had scarcely breakfasted
and arrived at Craig's scientific workshop before that official
appeared, accompanied by a man who carried in uncanny jars the
necessary materials for an investigation following an autopsy.
Kennedy was now in his element. The case had taken an unexpected turn
which made him a leading factor in its solution. Whatever suspicions he
may have entertained unofficially the night before he could now openly
and quickly verify.
He took a little piece of lung tissue and with a sharp sterilised knife
cut it up. Then he made it slightly alkaline with a little sodium
carbonate, talking half to us and half to himself as he worked. The
next step was to place the matter in a glass flask in a water bath
where it was heated. From the flask a Bohemian glass tube led into a
cool jar and on a part of the tube a flame was playing which heated it
to redness for two or three inches.
Several minutes we waited in silence. Finally when the process had gone
far enough, Kennedy took a piece of paper which had been treated with
iodised starch, as he later explained. He plunged the paper into the
cool jar. Slowly it turned a strong blue tint.
Craig said nothing, but it was evident that he was more than gratified
by what had happened. He quickly reached for a bottle on the shelves
before him, and I could see from the label on the brown glass that it
was nitrate of silver. As he plunged a little in a test-tube into the
jar a strong precipitate was gradually formed.
"It is the decided reaction for chloroform," he exclaimed simply in
reply to our unspoken questions.
"Chloroform," repeated the coroner, rather doubtfully, and it was
evident that he had expected a poison and had not anticipated any
result whatever from an examination of the lungs instead of the stomach
to which he had confined his own work so far. "Could chloroform be
discovered in the lungs or viscera after so many days? There was one
famous chloroform case for which a man is now serving a life term in
Sing Sing which I have understood there was grave doubt in the minds of
the experts. Mind, I am not trying to question the results of your work
except as they might naturally be questioned in court. It seems to me
that the volatility of chloroform might very possibly preclude its
discovery after a short time. Then again, might not other substances be
generated in a dead body which would give a reaction very much like
chloroform? We must consider all these questions before we abandon the
poison theory, sir. Remember, this is the summer time too, and
chloroform would evaporate very much more rapidly now than in winter."
Kennedy smiled, but his confidence remained unshaken.
"I am in a position to meet all of your objections," he explained
simply. "I think I could lay it down as a rule that by proper methods
chloroform may be discovered in the viscera much longer after death
than is commonly supposed--in summer from six days to three weeks, with
a practical working range of say twelve days, while in winter it may be
found even after several months--by the right method. Certainly this
case comes within the average length of time. More than that, no
substance is generated by the process of decomposition which will
vitiate the test for chloroform which I have just made. Chloroform has
an affinity for water and is also a preservative, and hence from all
these facts I think it safe to conclude that sometimes traces of it may
be found for two weeks after its administration, certainly for a few
days."
"And Madame de Nevers?" queried the coroner, as if the turn of events
was necessitating a complete reconstruction of his theory of the case.
"Was murdered," completed Kennedy in a tone that left nothing more to
be said on the subject.
"But," persisted the coroner, "if she was murdered by the use of
chloroform, how do you account for the fact that it was done without a
struggle? There were no marks of violence and I, for one, do not
believe that under ordinary circumstances any one will passively submit
to such an administration without a hard fight."
From his pocket Kennedy drew a small pasteboard box filled with tiny
globes, some bonbons and lozenges, a small hypodermic syringe, and a
few cigars and cigarettes. He held it out in the palm of his hand so
that we could see it.
"This," he remarked, "is the standard equipment of the endormeur.
Whoever obtained admittance to Madame's rooms, either as a matter of
course or secretly, must have engaged her in conversation, disarmed
suspicion, and then suddenly she must have found a pocket handkerchief
under her nose. The criminal crushed a globe of liquid in the
handkerchief, the victim lost consciousness, the chloroform was
administered without a struggle, all marks of identification were
obliterated, the body was placed in the closet, and the maid--either as
principal or accessory--took the most likely means of postponing
discovery by paying the bill in advance at the office, and then
disappeared."
Kennedy slipped the box back into his pocket. The coroner had, I think,
been expecting Craig's verdict, although he was loath to abandon his
own suicide theory and had held it to the last possible moment. At any
rate, so far he had said little, apparently preferring to keep his own
counsel as to his course of action and to set his own machinery in
motion.
He drew a note from his pocket, however. "I suppose," he began
tentatively, shaking the note as he glanced doubtfully from it to us,
"that you have heard that among the callers on this unfortunate woman
was a lady of high social position in this city?"
"I have heard a rumour to that effect," replied Kennedy as he busied
himself cleaning up the apparatus he had just used. There was nothing
in his manner even to hint at the fact that we had gone further and
interviewed the young lady in question.
"Well," resumed the coroner, "in view of what you have just discovered
I don't mind telling you that I believe it was more than a rumour. I
have had a man watching the woman and this is a report I received just
before I came up here."